Gemotions

He didn't bother to invite the man inside. He met him at the property line, the chain-link fence separating their yards like a battlefield. His neighbor was the sort of person who treated the world like a perfectly designed spreadsheet, everything in its place. The tree, a sturdy old chestnut, was an anomaly, a disruption of his precise order.

The words were predictable, the plea unconvincing. He listened, his jaw tight, his hands clenched at his sides. He glanced at the ground, then back up at the man. His voice was steady, calm, but every word felt like a deliberate act of defiance. "I'll consider it," he finally stated, his eyes narrowed. He turned and walked away, the man's apologetic voice trailing behind him.